


Evident

by meltokio



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 23:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10864143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meltokio/pseuds/meltokio
Summary: He doesn’t charm a room anymore, he haunts it.





	Evident

It’s all there—plain to see. The clues and signs and breadcrumbs are right there under her sharp nose and she bloody ignores them. Because it is easy to. Because it is comfortable. It is more palatable to push aside unpleasantness after years of heartache. At first there are subtle changes; the timbre in his voice, the way his eyes alight and focus on nothing while his mind is far away. She can’t ignore the stubble he’s let grow out, not when it scratches her cheek when he holds her. It’s hard to look away from his hair, lank and oily from lack of grooming. Hawke rearranges him until he looks like her smiling, flirting, golden-haired man and not the haggard thing he’s become.

He doesn’t charm a room anymore, he haunts it. His cause shares their bed, invades their kisses, presses space between them in intimate moments. When he’s not ranting about the _Plight of the Mages_ she glimpses true weakness in his eyes. He looks at her like she is solace. He looks lost. He looks overwhelmed. He is a flickering candle in a hailstorm. But those moments always die and resolution replaces them. Hawke blinks back tears and remembers their first nights spent giggling and gasping and exploring. Memories are a balm over fresh wounds.

Everyone tiptoes around them now. The air between them is thick and none of their friends wish to trudge through the mire. Varric speaks with her alone, reads her mind and lays her doubts bare. He doesn’t call him Blondie anymore. That was a name for another man. _“But I love him.”_ It’s ever her strongest argument; her only argument. It’s the only card in her hand anymore.

Even Isabela is at a loss for words. What can she say? _“I’m no good with feelings, Hawke. I chase the ones that are good and do my best to avoid any that are bad.”_ She sees Anders’ sadness shutting Hawke in like a prison, laying brick by brick and now she can only see her friend’s eyes. Isabela knows love too, though. She knows how stupid it makes a person. She has enough tact to leave some sentiments unsaid.

The Grey Warden prison in Vimmark cracks Hawke’s facade like an egg. Anders is weak, He gives into the voices. Before she knows it, Hawke has him pinned to the floor, holding him down with all her might. He comes to as the first tears fall from her eyes and onto his snarling features. She holds her back ramrod straight, half in an attempt to keep him on the ground and half to keep Bethany from seeing her in such a state. His veins stop glowing, the brilliant light of Justice withdrawing into the recesses of his mind. He recognizes her and instead of a sly grin and a wry comment about her position, he only fixes her a look of horror.

That night she finds him in her room, packing his things. His manifest lay scattered on the floor, discarded but not forgotten. His eyes shine with unshed tears as he kneels down to tie his knapsack. When Hawke closes in, he stops and leans onto his heels, head in hands.

She holds him as his shoulders shake, heaving sobs as dry as bone. Hawke follows after him; no smirks, no lines. When he can breathe again, he whispers _“I’m sorry”_ over and over until she is sure she’ll hear it in her dreams. She buries her face in his hair and admits to herself that he is lost.


End file.
